Mara took them into the atmosphere at a steeper angle than she usually would have, but she knew her ship's shields could take it. Through Tempered Mettle's windows she could see balls of flame in the sky in the distance on either side of her and knew from sight and sensors that each one was one of the New Republic's Mareschals coming in with her, no doubt pushing their safety specs to the limit. Each ship of their formation had been given a distinct landing zone by the Poln Major Central Command and they were heading for those landing locations with as much speed as possible.
She couldn't see space behind them. Their plot reported the battle between Admiral Rogriss' formation and the World Devastator was still raging, and while the rate of destruction had slowed, Rogriss' ships were still disappearing like embers in a particularly cold night.
Luke was beside her, managing their descent as well as he could. Leia sat behind them both; Mara couldn't see her, but she could feel Leia through the Force. The Councilor was a bundle of nerves, fear, and anger under tight control, but all of them were determined to get to ground. They were here to help as many people as they could, and they would… because there was no doubt left, now, how this battle would end. The World Devastator had proved too tough for an entire Imperial fleet—a good one too, Imperials Mara would have held up as the best of the Empire while she was Emperor's Hand, as examples for the rest of the Empire to emulate—and soon it would be coming for the planet.
E-wings and TIEs continued to duel above Tempered Mettle as Mara's ship drove downwards, but the TIEs did not try to follow them. Without shields it was unlikely they would survive atmospheric entry at that speed, and even if they did the subsequent loss of maneuverability would have made them exceptionally easy targets.
Luke still occasionally took snap-shots at them with their guns, but it had been some time since he had hit anything. She could feel something in him, a fatigue that was unusual in all their adventures. There was responsibility—he was Luke Skywalker, there was always responsibility—but here it was married to a bone-deep exhaustion that Mara understood.
It never ended.
The killer of the First Death Star, who had been instrumental in destroying the second one and killing Palpatine was face to face with yet another superweapon commanded by yet more Dark Jedi, while his sister was wrestling with terror-tinged memories of watching Alderaan's destruction.
Mara felt something else too through their bond, the trickling guilt that somehow this was their fault. The idea that this was all their fault for relaxing for a moment, for wanting some time with their family. She knew, intellectually, that that was a ridiculous thing to believe. Their decision to visit Leia and Han to tell them about her pregnancy had not been an irresponsible one.
Even though they had known there was another Emperor's Hand out there, they'd had no reason to believe that Roganda Ismaren could do what she had done at Coruscant—breach the planet's defenses, breach the Jedi Consulate, threaten the Skyhook and steal the Nar Shaddaa artifact, managing to get through not just the Jedi who had been there but the entire Coruscant defense fleet. But in their hearts they both knew that if they had been at the Consulate they would have stopped Roganda. Their absence, their moment of inattention, had resulted in this… this catastrophe.
They had to win. Even if they didn't have to before, they had something… someone… new to fight for now. Someone that bound them together and defined the future in new and unexpected ways.
I'm here, she sent him, through their bond, I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere.
"The enemy is locked on Agonizer," reported Leia grimly. "But it has slowed its approach on the planet. Rogriss is buying us time."
Mara just nodded. Below them the planetary surface was growing at an alarming pace, so she cut the main engines and engaged the repulsorlifts. Her entire ship rumbled from the strain, bending but not breaking. The large open field—what looked like some kind of athletic field—that had been marked as their emergency landing spot was visible now. In the distance she could see the gleaming, familiar white stone of the Governor's Palace, high on the hill overlooking the city, reflecting light like a beacon.
"Slips, check landing trajectory. Luke, help me guide us in."
As they approached the ground, Mara saw the mass of people clustered around nearby buildings—it was obviously a school, one of typically blocky Imperial design that Mara had seen on a hundred different worlds—and there were hundreds of people waiting. Through the Force, Mara and the other Jedi could feel their fear—and their hope—matched by thousands of others in Whitestone City and beyond.
They hit the ground, landing gear carving deep indents into well-manicured grass, marked with white lines for sporting days.
"Dropping the ramp," Mara said as she slapped the controls.
Luke was already out of his seat, running down in that direction with Leia, Iella, and the medics to help get everyone they could fit aboard. Mara was doing weight calculations, considering how many tons she could squeeze into Tempered Mettle without making departure impossible.
Rendili Vigil was not really meant for landing maneuvers. She could land—in theory—but she had been built in the void and was meant primarily for space combat. Her overall shape made landing awkward at best, and while the ship had a fair amount of available space for refugees (especially since their hangars were all empty, with Rendili Vigil's squadron of starfighters busy fighting TIE droids), so they could help with an evacuation, but she was far from an ideal evacuation craft.
["Temperature rising!"] The Togorian sensor officer reported in his harsh feline language. ["At extreme levels!"]
Commander Atril Tabanne stood from her command chair and glanced over at the Togorian before answering, taking the temperature of her own crew under stress.
"Maintain course and descent angle. I know her specs. I helped write those specs. She can take it." Rendili Vigil rattled more than she had in any of Atril's more difficult battles. "Hold together, honey," she muttered to her ship. "You heard me. You can take it."
Beside her, Asori Rogriss wore a stunned expression. The shorter, slighter woman looked entirely too pale. Tension clung to the corners of her mouth and eyes, fear that even Asori's Imperial training was unable to hide. Fear, Atril knew, that was due to their situation and what was happening to Poln Major— and knowledge that Agonizer was fighting a desperate, losing battle behind them.
She suspected that if Asori had been aboard her own ship, with all the command responsibilities that entailed, that she would not have looked so concerned and uncertain. That Asori would have seized command, pushed all her fears to the side, focused on her responsibilities and suppressed the trauma of the moment for after the battle. But here, aboard Atril's ship, she was just a passenger.
"Captain Rogriss," she said.
Asori's stunned gaze found Atril, focusing. "Commodore?"
"I require your assistance," she said, despite not needing the help. "I need an estimation of how many people we can supply with oxygen after evacuation, it doesn't matter if we can find space for them all if we all pass out on the way out."
"Of course," Asori said, and in that moment Atril could see the iron-command they had both been taught at the Imperial Academies assert itself, tension shifting from fear to purpose.
The flatscreens around the bridge gave them all a good view of their exterior. Grassy plains stretched beyond the edges of Whitestone City, with small suburbs in the distance. Airspeeders zoomed towards them, as if drawn by some irresistible force, rocketing at speeds no doubt higher than were safe.
"Brace for landing!" she ordered.
"Prepare for combat landing," her Bothan comms officer, Hiacun, intoned calmly into his mic. "Ten seconds. Nine. Eight…"
"Keep all guns on target!" Captain Tigan's voice was hoarse from the effort of shouting over the hammering of laser fire against Agonizer's shields. "More power to the engines!"
Agonizer's return fire would have been enough to burn through a planet's crust and liquify stone, but Rogriss saw no effect on the closing World Devastator. It was like their foe was toying with them, now. It had destroyed a Golan platform with one more of those thrice-damned shipkillers it could fire, but only the one, reinforcing his belief that the damned thing had run out. In their absence, it was crawling towards Agonizer with its gaping, fiery maw and paw-like appendages seeming to reach hungrily towards his ship.
They had come close to the planet to get cover from the now-destroyed Golan platform. With it gone, there was little more he and his ships could do. "Status on the evacuation?" he asked.
"Your daughter is bound for an evacuation zone on the New Republic flagship," Tigan reported, voice a low, warm murmur. "Pellaeon's forces are engaged with the enemy TIE droids, but they don't seem to pose a serious threat to Baron Fel and the New Republic fighters. His ships are bound for the hyper limit unimpeded."
He thought, briefly, about the irony of the commander of the New Republic force that had arrived to aid them being Atril Tabanne, guided by his daughter. Tabanne had been his prisoner, not that long ago, when she'd been a mere Captain. He'd risked his life, his career, and his childrens' lives and careers to help her. He'd stood up for something. If he had not made that decision, where would they all be?
I'm sorry, heja, he thought, watching Rendli Vigil and the rest of Mirage Formation rush closer to their destinations on the sensor plot. But at least this time there's no doubt that your mother would be proud of us.
But he did not have time to ruminate over it. It was done and they were all here. And he would be staying here. The shuddering of his ship was not just from laser and ion fire, but from the lashing of tractor beams, pinning Agonizer in place. Even with all the added energy devoted to weapons and engines, his ship could only retreat with excruciating slowness… and the World Devastator was advancing faster.
Pellaeon would get away, at least, with as many refugees as they could carry. His own formation—which had begun with more than a dozen Star Destroyers and many additional escort craft—had been decimated, but he still had many (damaged) ships remaining. They clung to Agonizer's sides, fighting to protect her, fighting to buy more time for the evacuation. Time that was, in Rogriss' estimation, no longer worth buying. "Rogriss to fleet. All ships, scatter. Repeat, scatter and head for the hyper limit. Stay in pairs, use tractors to tow damaged ships out if you can. Pick up any survivors as you go if you can. Then get out of here and reinforce Admiral Pellaeon."
There were objections, of course, but not as many as Rogriss had feared. He and Tigan shared a look, one of perfect understanding.
"More power to the guns!" Tigan ordered. "Cut all power to the engines, devote all power to the guns!" Then Tigan took a deep breath. "I would order an evacuation, sir," he said in a quieter voice, one not meant to be overheard, "but with its tractors on us…"
"I know," Rogriss said without nodding. "Fight your ship, Captain Tigan."
"Sir," Tigan said, hand outstretched. "You were the best commanding officer I ever had. It has been my honor to serve under your command."
"Vendov," Rogriss said, struggling to control his voice. "The honor is mine." He took Tigan's hand and shook it firmly.
Then, for what Rogriss knew would be the last time, Tigan turned away. The captain walked Agonizer's bridge, shouting encouragement and orders. All around them, the remainder of Rogriss' fleet scattered in pairs, helping one another escape. The World Devastator seemed disinterested in pursuing them, its attention locked unerringly on Agonizer. That was good, Rogriss thought. It meant that more of his men would survive.
Most of the crew were doing their duty with an impressive stoic mein. But one young man, at one of the gunnery stations, could not quite stifle his sniffles. The battle was lost, perhaps, but that did not mean that Rogriss was at the end of his duties—or at the end of the good he could do. He climbed down the ladder into the crew pit.
The young man—he couldn't be older than twenty—looked up at Rogriss with sudden alarm. "Sir?"
Rogriss reached past him and flicked the station from manual to automatic. "What's your name, son?"
"Um, Charmingdon, sir. Zeff Charmingdon."
The young man's uniform said he was a Lieutenant, but Rogriss knew just from looking at him that he had never attended one of the Imperial academies. "First time in battle? Where are you from?"
Charmingdon glanced nervously at his console, clearly thinking that there was something better for him to do than make smalltalk with an Admiral. But Rogriss was an Admiral, and when an Admiral attempted to make smalltalk, a Lieutenant participated whether they wanted to or not. Even if they were all about to die.
"Dubrillion, sir."
Rogriss nodded. Dubrillion was a system he'd never even heard of. Somewhere on the Rim, no doubt. "I know you didn't choose to be here," he said. "But you're here now, and with your help I think the two of us can do some good. What do you say we find a weakness in that monstrosity's shields, something that our friends can use to kill it next time?"
The young man silently swallowed. "A-all right, sir," he agreed nervously.
"Good lad," Rogriss said, flicked the firing controls from automatic back to manual, and took the second seat at the station.
Mara had been to Poln Major once before and remembered that the world had a significant non-human population. Still, she was stunned that such a large percentage of the refugees here, at this very Imperial-designed, Imperial-built school, were nonhuman. They were not of any one uniform species—some were of species that Mara did not even recognize, or had not seen since the last time she'd been this close to the Unknown Regions. But as refugees, those differences seemed unimportant. The children helped one another up the ramp and Mara directed them hastily into places they could sit and brace when the time came for takeoff.
She realized only after she'd already found places for nearly three dozen refugees that the adults were, for the most part, not these children's parents, but their school teachers. Leia was in close conversation, going from group to group, reassuring and helping.
"Miss?" asked one of the human instructors, his voice hurried but not panicked. Mara looked up from the cluster of children she was securing in an open section of the hold, peering over the heads of the mass of terrified children, their fear and anxiety filling the air around her like a tangible mist. "Miss, Mikkel's not here!"
"Who are they and where are they?" Mara asked curtly, Leia at her side.
The human instructor shook his head worriedly. He was a youngish man about Mara's own age in a hideous striped suit about ten years too mature for him. "I don't know. It was hard to keep track of all of us. Some of the students were taken away by their parents, but I was sure Mikkel was with us."
The thick, tangible fear in the Force made its guidance harder to hear. She realized Luke was beside her once again only when he spoke. "I'll search the school," he promised. He seized Mara's hand and squeezed it quickly. "You get the ship ready for launch."
She nodded fiercely, squeezing his hand far harder in return. "You get back here when we are."
"Count on it," Luke said.
Leia was beside them, her eyes hurried but intent. "The other Jedi are managing well at the other landing zones, but we're running out of time. The Imperial fleet is starting to retreat."
"Go," Mara encouraged Luke. He released her hand, hugged Leia quickly, and ran down the ramp. Mara could hear the distant thunder of turbolaser fire, the sounds of battle in the sky above her. She took a moment to look up; in the sky above she saw the arrow-shape of Agonizer, firing a furious fusillade of turbolaser fire, unleashing the full majesty of its firepower at the immense, square-like, industrial form of the enemy 'World Devastator'. The Devastator loomed overhead, its maw-like belly pointed directly at Agonizer… and through Agonizer at the world below. "Get everyone secured," she ordered the teachers. "Get them all strapped in with whatever cargo webbing we have because when we take off, we're going as fast as we can!"
The mass of people at the base of the Whitestone City governor's palace climbed the large, ladder-like stairways that had descended from the bottoms of Atril Tabanne's ships. She'd brought no fewer than half of her Mareschals down here to collect the thousands of fleeing people. Climbing the ladders was difficult, especially for the elderly, so the young and the healthy went first. Some were loaded into her three shuttles and brought up manually, but she had only one shuttle per ship and they were not large—one of the downsides of cramming as much capability into a platform the size of Rendili Vigil was there was no wasted space.
On the ground, the Jedi had taken the lead in guiding people up. Atril didn't recognize them all, but their lightsabers were lit as beacons, guiding people to safe locations.
Beside her, on Rendili Vigil's bridge, Asori Rogriss' distraction had come to an end. "It looks like there are about three thousand in total. Do we have space for them all?"
Not really, Atril thought. But without their squadron of starfighters, maybe they had enough volume if they packed the ship, including all the corridors. It wouldn't be pretty, but it would work, maybe. "We'll make do," she said.
"What's going on up there?" Asori asked.
Atril pressed her lips together, trying to come up with an answer that wouldn't dishearten the Imperial officer. Her lack of response had the same effect, and Asori's face fell. The shorter woman looked down, her eyes closed, and she took a deep breath.
"The UREF fleet is scattering," Atril said, wishing she'd said that to begin with. "But Agonizer…"
On the combat plot, they could both see that the World Devastator had locked Agonizer with its tractor beams and was inexorably drawing the Star Destroyer into its maw. The distance was becoming quite short, and while Agonizer continued to fire everything it had, nothing seemed to have any effect.
"Of course," Asori said hoarsely.
"Commodore, we're monitoring a comms exchange between Agonizer and the World Devastator! It's coming in the clear."
"On speaker."
" . . . offering you the opportunity to surrender and spare your men," said a stiff Imperial voice.
"Another show trial to glue your feeble regime together for another hour," retorted a voice from Agonizer. Atril thought the voice too deep to be the elder Rogriss, but she couldn't be sure—the message was too garbled, with electronic static and jamming distorting all the voices.
A second voice cut in. "I can't accept your surrender, Halmere," and this voice was one that Atril recognized. She knew it well—she'd had dinner with the man once before, after all, and Teren Rogriss was not an easy man to forget. "We lack the facilities to take you all prisoner."
The channel was flooded with a screeching static which made Atril flinch. "Sorry ma'am," said her comms officer. "The Empire just increased their jamming. I don't think they want anyone to hear the rest."
Atril glanced at Asori beside her. Teren Rogriss' daughter sniffled and surreptitiously wiped a tear away. Their eyes met, briefly, and Atril offered her what she hoped was a respectful, acknowledging nod. The Imperial nodded back, perfectly measured, and straightened her back. folding her arms behind her, adopting that perfect Imperial posture that Atril had learned all too well. Asori deployed her training like a set of overlapping armor as she saw the corridors outside the bridge filled with people, people her father had just bought the time to save.
"[We're fully loaded!]" called her Togorian sensor officer.
"How fully?"
He shook his head, his fur standing on edge. "[Too full.]"
She cursed. "Seal all hatches!" demanded Atril. "Get us back in the air!"
"[There are still people outside—]"
"You heard me!" Atril exclaimed. "Now make it so." As the clanging of hatches resounded through the ship and its engines whined under a heavy load, her voice softened and she spoke again. "We're out of time. We can't save them and if we stay we won't save anyone."
The distance between Agonizer and the World Devastator was so narrow, now. As Teren Rogriss watched, the nose of his ship began to disintegrate. The forward prow just came apart under some invisible force, pieces drawn forward towards the World Devastator's furnace. The sharp-edged shape became blunter, and then more of his ship started to detach from its central core, the entire forward third losing cohesion. Like crumbs, they were swept forward into the burning maw and vanished. Agonizer's remaining guns continued to fire, pouring energy, but they had not broken their enemy's defenses, and they would not break it now.
To his credit, Charmingdon was focused on his task. He and Rogriss had—other than the brief interruption of Halmere's mocking call—worked together to find a weakness, any weakness, in those shields. They had not found one, but Charmingdon was entranced by the task, searching, testing different spots, looking for flickers or eddies or anything that might be a weakness that could be exploited.
"Look," Rogriss said, excited, pointing at some corner of the screen. "Look there!"
Charmingdon was pulled, confused, out of his trance. "Sir?" he said, not seeing anything.
Rogriss pointed again, more decisively. "Look! Do you see that? There's a flicker in their shields every time you hit that spot!"
"There is?" Charmingdon blinked, but he was just a young Lieutenant, one with little real training. Rogriss was an Admiral. Charmingdon had no right, no ability, to second-guess the Admiral's judgment. "There is?" he said again, more excitedly.
"Yes!" Rogriss exclaimed. "I'll get a message to the fleet, so they know, you give them hell, son!"
Charmingdon's smile was heartbreaking, a child who had just received the perfect lifeday present.
They hadn't found a weakness, of course. But better to let the boy die happy.
Mara was willing to do a lot of things, but she wasn't willing to leave Luke Skywalker behind. He'd been gone too long, trying to rescue the last straggler, and she wasn't going to leave him. She loved him far too much to leave him behind again… and she needed him, because she was not ready to be a mother alone. Their child needed at least one unambiguously good parent.
They were running out of time. She stared up into the sky, where the World Devastator now loomed, enormous, above Whitestone City. Beneath it was the much tinier Agonizer.
An Impstar Deuce shouldn't look so fragile.
As Mara watched the Star Destroyer simply… came apart. Fragmenting into bits starting at the prow, the Star Destroyer's mass was broken into smaller and smaller parts.
"Oh, my stars," gasped Leia beside her.
Agonizer's massive middle section fractured, long fissures extending through armor and compartments, until the bulky aft sections shattered into chunks. Its remains were swept slowly into the Devastator's maw, and Mara had the odd sense that she was watching the early stages of a beast enjoying a particularly flavorful meal.
When Mara looked down, she saw Luke sprinting up the ramp, carrying an unconscious alien child in his arms, a field dressing slapped across its head. "Go!" he shouted.
Leia slapped the ramp controls and Mara sprinted for the spiral stairs that went up from the cargo hold to the freighter's bridge, dodging around the throng of tiny people. "Get us off the ground, Slips!"
Dorset Konnair flared her engines to full, and her A-wing leapt forward out of the ongoing melee. She raced away from the densest part of the combat, putting distance—which meant safety—between herself and the numerous TIE Droids that remained. Her A-wing was all speed and maneuverability, but speed wasn't as helpful without also having space where she could exploit it. Her wingman stayed in tight, both their shields full aft to deflect the grazing fire that came from the enemy TIEs.
Behind them, the E-wings and X-wings designed for this kind of close confrontation had been joined by TIE Defenders and dozens of exotic, odd-looking fighters with a classic TIE ball cockpit clutched in a quartet of gracefully-curving wings instead of solar panels. Had the galaxy not been turned upside-down that would have meant a vicious confrontation between the New Republic and the TIEs, but instead the combination of powerful fighters were clearing the board of the New Order's droid starfighters.
Politics makes strange bedfellows, Dorset thought as she twirled her A-wing on its axis, pointing back towards the combat.
Her attention was drawn beyond it. The absolutely enormous enemy—World Devastator, Silencer Station, whatever—was consuming the remains of Agonizer, and hovering above what had been the most densely populated parts of Poln Major. Beneath them both, the New Republic's Mareschals were once again exiting the atmosphere—slower than they had descended—and trailing behind them was the streaking form of Tempered Mettle.
"Polearms, give us an escort" came the voice of Rendili Vigil's Bothan comms officer. "Rogues, Knaves, finish off the TIEs so they can't intercept us on the way out."
"Copy, Vigil," Dorset agreed, guiding her fighter in as ordered.
"All ships, this is Admiral Pellaeon," the crisp, Coruscanti-accented voice of the Imperial cut through Dorset's comms. "We're going to retreat and regroup. Plan Delta, repeat Delta."
What in all the nine hells does Plan Delta mean? Dorset wondered. She wasn't the only one wondering, either; even as they all retreated away from Poln Major so they could transition to hyperspace, the same question was being echoed across the New Republic formation.
"Captain?" Atril asked.
To Asori, Rendili Vigil's bridge was unnaturally quiet. She could hear the near-silent labor of the air scrubbers, the subtle motions of crew at their stations, the whirring of computers and droids. She did not know how many people had died among her father's fleet. Nor did she know how many people were yet to die, abandoned on the surface of Poln Major. The number had to be millions, devoured into the hungry may of yet another Imperial superweapon.
All she could think was that she would never be able to give her papa his book back.
"Captain?"
She refused to let her reverie cause her to fail in her duty. "Plan Delta means we're retreating into the Unknown Regions," she reported. "The UREF has a number of basing facilities. We're going to perform a random hyperspace jump, make sure we're not followed, then retreat to our nearest colony world." Even as she spoke, Asori manipulated the holo-display. She took only a few seconds to identify the star that was their first destination. "Here. System Codename Bulwark."
"We'll go with our secondary communications protocol," Atril said to the Bothan at the communications station. "Comms, send the destination to the fleet, secondary transit protocol. Then let's get out of here."
He nodded, typing furiously into his console. "Message sent!"
"Wait!"
Dorset glanced through the canopy of her A-wing at the oval-shape of Tempered Mettle. The TIE Droids had, finally, been eliminated. The World Devastator was no longer producing more; it seemed more intent on consuming Agonizer than on pursuing them, with the TIEs gone. Agonizer had been mostly absorbed by the World Devastator's fiery maw, though there was a cloud of debris that still retained a semi-triangular shape.
"Who is this?" demanded Pellaeon's voice.
"This is Councilor Leia Organa Solo," the first voice came back. "Commodore Tabanne, can we deploy a rearguard to observe what our enemy does after we depart? I want recordings of everything, copy?"
"Councilor Organa Solo?" Pellaeon's voice was astonished. "You came in person?!"
Leia did not bother to respond. Atril's voice cut in instead. "Polearm Leader, what's your fuel status?"
Dorset checked her HUD. "Still green."
"Linger at the limit. Keep your hyperdrives hot. Do not engage the enemy, repeat do not engage the enemy. Your mission is observation only, clear?"
Our entire mission to Poln Major was supposed to be observation only, Atril, Dorset thought wryly. Not that she objected, of course. "Copy, Commodore," she said. "A-wing recon. How long do we stay?"
"Until you think you've seen enough," said Leia.
"Copy. Polearms stick with me. We'll see the rest of you on the other side." Above and in front of her, there was the psuedomotion that came before a hyperspace jump, and then the Imperial and New Republic vessels all vanished, leaving just Dorset and her Polearms behind.
She schooled her anxiety, searching the system for the right spot to hide and watch.
SYSTEMS ALERT: MINOR DAMAGE TO MOLECULAR FURNACE. REPAIRS UNDERWAY.
RECLAMATION PROCESS UNDERWAY. RECLAMATION CRAFT BEGINNING RESOURCE COLLECTION. ADDENDUM: PLANET DESIGNATED 'POLN MAJOR' ADDED TO RESOURCE TARGET LIST. ESTIMATING RESOURCES AVAILABLE WITH EXPEDITED COLLECTION. ADDENDUM: BEGIN SECOND ROUND OF EXPANSION. CONSTRUCTION OF ADDITIONAL MOLECULAR FURNACE UNITS UNDERWAY. CONSTRUCTION OF ADDITIONAL TIE/D AND ANTI-SHIP COUNTERMEASURES ADDED TO PRIORITY LIST.
EVALUATING LIKELY TACTICAL NECESSITIES. ASSUMPTION: REBEL POLITY SELF-DESIGNATED 'NEW REPUBLIC' REPRESENTS PRIORITY THREAT.
. . .
SITUATION EVALUATION COMPLETE. CONSTRUCTION OF DROID FRIGATES ADDED TO PRIORITY LIST. ALLOCATING RESOURCES TO FRIGATE DESIGN PROCESS. RESOURCE COLLECTION PROCESS ENGAGED. OPERATING AT FIFTEEN PERCENT CAPACITY. ESTIMATE FULL CAPACITY IN THIRTY STANDARD MINUTES.
. . .
PROMPT: EXTERNAL QUERY. SOURCE: SECONDARY LEADERSHIP FIGURE, DESIGNATED EMPEROR-REGENT. ADDITIONAL SOURCE: ANCILLARY LEADERSHIP FIGURE, DESIGNATED EMPRESS DOWAGER. CONTENT OF QUERY: CONSIDERATION OF SUBSEQUENT ACTION.
EVALUATING OPTIONS.
. . .
OPTIMAL OPTION SELECTED. PROMPTING EXTERNAL INTERFACE TO RETURN QUERY. THIS IS THE WILL.
Roganda Ismaren was two steps down from the center of Silencer Station's throne room. Her son was limp in the throne, his eyes covered by the helm that linked him to the Silencer-7 AI. His lips were slightly parted as he breathed shallowly, his expression strangely neutral. He lacked the hints of pain that had been so common when she had previously seen him in this chair. That was good, as it meant he's grown more accustomed to commanding the Silencer AI.
"Our next priority should be pursuing Pellaeon and his rebels and wiping them out," Halmere said, his attention more on her than her son's seemingly inattentive form. "Once we have finished them off, we can turn our attention to the New Republic and crush them and the Jedi once and for all."
"No," she disagreed. "Pellaeon is no longer a threat. Whatever forces he had to fight us we just destroyed or crippled. The New Republic is much larger with much more potential. We must strike now and break their resolve, before they can bring all their might to challenge us."
The sudden, unexpected sound of her son's voice started her. It had an oddly mechanical quality to it, without any of his usual sarcasm or dismissiveness. "My mother is correct," he said stiffly, each syllable measured to the millisecond. "The New Republic is the greater threat. Their will to resist must be crushed. A further example of the penalty for resistance to our rule must be made."
Roganda smiled, a full, broad smile. There was the Emperor she had raised, the Emperor she had made, coming to support her with all the power of the Empire at his command—because Silencer Station was the Empire now, it was all the Empire that mattered. "Then where should we go next, my son?" she asked.
"Corellia," he said, in that same perfectly robotic, perfectly commanding tone. "Their rebellion against Imperial rule is still recent. They must be brought to justice before others choose to follow."
"Then Corellia it will be," Roganda agreed before Halmere could voice an objection. She glanced sideways at him, but the Emperor-Regent did not meet her gaze. This was an opportunity not to be missed. "I believe the Emperor has proven his ability to command Silencer-7 without any doubt," she proclaimed. "Before we proceed to Corellia—or, perhaps on the way to Corellia—we should have his formal coronation." Halmere was beginning to open his mouth, but she rolled over him. "Emperor Ismaren Palpatine," she said, putting emphasis on both Irek's title and his surnames, "I will formally invite the Council of Moffs and other vital dignitaries to attend to you at once. If you would accompany me, we have to get your exact measurements for the tailors."
PROMPT: EXTERNAL QUERY. SOURCE: EMPRESS DOWAGER. CONTENT OF QUERY: REQUESTING FORMAL RECLASSIFICATION OF [DESIGNATE] EMPEROR TO EMPEROR. EVALUATING OPTIONS.
. . .
OPTIMAL OPTION SELECTED. RESTRAINING PROTOCOLS DISENGAGED.
. . .
A light, into darkness.
A sensation of rising through viscous fluid, thick and clingy.
Pressure, gradually releasing.
Irek Ismaren rose up from the depths. The inky, total blackness that had subsumed him gradually receded, light cascading downwards and growing brighter through the shimmering waves above his head. His body, before limp and lifeless, returned to him as his mind reawakened. Pressure that had boxed his head into stunningly tight confines relaxed and he could breathe again, think again. The overpowering weight of thoughts not his—thoughts that could not be his, because they were loud to the point of deafening—was relaxed, and he was free once more.
He was sitting on the throne. His mother was there, beaming with pride and a sense of overwhelming satisfaction that he could taste through the Force. Halmere was with her and he too was so easy to read, his deep, terrified sense of inadequacy on full, potent display. Theirs were only the closest minds. In that moment of perfect clarity, his brain void of all thought as he recovered from the experience of being merged with Silencer-7… suppressed… he followed Nichos Marr's suggestion of "Empty your mind" with greater fidelity than at any other time in his life. His own thoughts had not yet returned. Silencer-7 had released him. All there was to feel was the Force.
And the Force was in agony.
He could feel Silencer Station consuming Poln Major. He could feel the brightness of the lives yet to be taken, those left behind. The suffering of a world out of balance. He could feel Silencer-7's pure, encompassing malice, its desire to consume, its utter lack of conscience, of care, of sentiment.
His mother put her arm around his back. "Come, Emperor," she said with the broadest, most self-satisfied smile. "Let us get you measured for your coronation robes, and then you can rest."
He stared at her, stupefied, as she led him away.